


Recycling

by T Verano (t_verano)



Series: December, This Time Around [16]
Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: 2015 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "Present Wrapping", Christmas fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2020-05-07 09:05:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19206208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: December with the guys a couple of years post-TSbyBS.Jim's trying to wrap a present. It isn't going well.





	Recycling

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 2015 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "Present Wrapping"

Jim pulled the 'Xmas Supplies' box out from the bottom drawer of the wardrobe and put it on the bed. 'Xmas Supplies' was his best — actually his _only_ — bet. Some of the ornaments Blair had packed to bring for the cabin had been wrapped in tissue paper; surely there was at least one piece that would work. The present he needed to wrap wasn't that big, after all.

Ten minutes later the comforter on the bed held a dozen small stacks of partially smoothed-out tissue paper, sorted by size, and Jim was in possession of a large mug of heavily fortified coffee, along with a certain amount of regret that he'd been too irritated by Cascade's annoyingly intrusive holiday 'spirit' to take time to wrap his last-acquired present for Blair before coming up here.

So what, if the present hadn't been ready when it was supposed to be and Jim had had to pick it up at the last minute. Last minute or not, irritated or not, he still could've at least brought along something to wrap it in, something better than this sad collection of torn and creased tissue paper remnants, all of which looked like they'd led discouragingly hard lives.

At the very least, he could've brought along a bow or some ribbon; a box wrapped in this crumpled shit might look more like a present and less like a refugee from some sort of tissue paper war if it sported ribbons or bows. 

Theoretically, anyway. 

Jim sighed. The bow-or-ribbon situation he could fix, if he denuded one of the respectably wrapped presents he'd hidden out in the woodshed to keep them safe from Blair's poke-prod-and-shake curiosity. Those presents he'd had the good sense to acquire and wrap well before Thanksgiving, and one of them could certainly spare a bow; this present _needed_ a bow.

A bow and Scotch tape. And he didn't have any Scotch tape. 

Duct tape, now; duct tape he had. In spades.

Jim sighed again. It really shouldn't matter that Blair's present was going to end up looking like sixteen kinds of crap. Blair would just smile cheerfully at the mess and pat Jim on the back for recycling the wrapping paper. Hell, maybe duct tape would turn out to be more ecologically sound than Scotch tape, and Jim would get bonus pats on the back.

Still, this present meant more to Jim than that, and he wanted it to mean more to Blair than that, too; wanted it to mean —

_Recycling._

That was it; that was the answer. Jim glanced at the top drawer of the wardrobe, where he'd stored his Saint Nicholas's Day presents. He didn't need Scotch tape or duct tape or any of the battle-weary scraps of tissue paper. He had everything he needed to wrap Blair's present: one large white athletic sock and a leather hair tie. 

Blair would know what it meant. What _Jim_ meant.

He always did, even when Jim didn't know exactly how to say it.


End file.
